


In you, I count stars

by noero



Series: KL PWP Collection [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Lance (Voltron), Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 17:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noero/pseuds/noero
Summary: Deep in his heart Lance always knew the Red Lion belonged to Keith, always did and always would.Maybe he belonged to Keith too.





	In you, I count stars

**Author's Note:**

> Stick this in canon wherever you want it to go. 
> 
> It's literally just six thousand words of porn.

Survival training was part of the Garrison’s curriculum during fourth year for the pilot program. Students liked go gossip over how they taught these things to scare the cadets. In fifty years of Garrison exploration no one had ever encountered _aliens_ so what predators were they supposed to be evading anyway? Funny that Lance never even made it to the midterm because, well, intergalactic war got in the way. He did, however, remember well the discussion on flight or fight response and the optimal nonpredation fleeing strategies. 

Running from a predator too soon, or when you know the pursuer is faster, only outs you as prey. You don’t save yourself, only initiate a chase you can’t possibly win. It’s risk, rewards, probabilities, and all that. So you learn, when acute stress starts to overshadow the rational side of your head, to suppress it. You swallow your fears, make the decision to lay down, bare your throat, and hope for the best. 

Or you lay there and let it happen. 

At some point he applied this lesson to the Lions. They’re powerful. They’re deadly. They’re, well, _lions_. The paladins don’t even think of running. See how it’s easy to get lost in the romance of it all?

So, like, Lance rolled over for Blue. Didn’t even think of doing anything else. He took a gamble, trusted her with all their lives because what else can you do when you’re cornered like that? 

And he starts to really piece it together when Red takes him. Because it’s like that, you know. Red demands him and Lance just rolls over. That’s the way it goes. They don’t own the lions, the lions own them, and Lance was never strong enough to even think of fighting. He’s always been the prey in this metaphor. He'd be an idiot to ever think otherwise.

Deep in his heart Lance knows the Red Lion belongs to Keith, always has and always will. 

Maybe he belongs to Keith too.

⁂⁂⁂

Lance is two glasses of wine into the night when it starts, this horrifying thing they do now, elbows backed against the bar where they stand side-to-side observing the party around them. His cheeks are flushed pink and the collar of the Altean tunic Allura loaned him is unbuttoned and loose around his neck. They've gone past being rivals. They argue but it's fun. Foreplay, maybe. So he leans toward Keith, voice more giddy than the breathy hum he intends, “It really suits you, you know. The whole Team Leader thing.”

It's the wine talking, mostly, but Keith doesn't know that. He tilts his head back so they’re facing one another, practically nose to nose. Lance can smell the remnants of his aftershave. The circles under his eyes make him look older than he is, but he's still got that easy confidence about him that makes him so beautiful. For being such an awkward mess, Keith can hold himself steady in a crowded room. And yeah, it was definitely the wine - mostly. But Keith doesn't let Lance's compliment fall between them. He smiles, easy and light. “Oh. Is that how it is?”

“Yeah, man.” Lance lifts the glass of wine back to his lips. "That's how it is."

Like that, they’re flirting. Lance notices a few minutes later than called for because he hadn’t meant to, not really, but he’s pleasantly buzzed, warm, and itching for something. Keith is there and well, he’s right _there_ and Lance likes the way his eyes soften when he says it and how the line between his brows smooths itself out. The gold piping along the collar of his own borrowed robes is distracting, drawing Lance’s eyes down the long line of his neck to the spot where the fabric pulls a little too tight over his chest and Lance is nothing if not all in. He’s gotta be direct. 

He bumps Keith’s shoulder lightly, takes a gamble, “You do look good tonight.”

Keith doesn’t answer right away. He only raises an eyebrow with his own smile growing a little cocksure and wry. There’s a subdued eagerness in his eyes, at odds with that regal sort of confidence he holds. He’s always been like that, a little too much of everything all at once, even when it makes no sense. His eyes drop, just for a split moment, and land on Lance’s mouth and that’s how Lance spots the lie. Keith’s got all those little tells. 

Keith pushes his jaw up just enough so he’s looking down at Lance when he quips, “Sad about that?” which makes Lance twitch, that subtle little move imbued with a self-satisfied need to make sure Lance understands Keith's just a tiny bit better than him, even with those little tells. 

Lance should've been mad, but sometimes you just gotta let instinct take over. You gotta let the cards fall. A shiver runs through him, like ice in his veins and there’s that adrenaline spike. The options run through his head. Run and you’ll out yourself as prey. Stand your ground and you’ll fool the hunter. Or roll over, get taken, and you just might like it. 

So Lance lets his gaze drop down Keith’s body, trailing over his hips and down his legs before tracing the same line back up. He stops on Keith’s mouth and makes a real show of it. Keith’s lips are plump, a little chapped and red because he bites them when he’s anxious, and one corner twists up a little higher than the other. He’s flushed, just a touch, and hard to catch in the amber lighting.

And Lance bares his throat. “No way.”

⁂⁂⁂

They roughly jerk each other off in a dark hallway, the music and chatter from the celebration still close enough to bleed down the walls. When Keith touches Lance — when his nails drag along his waist — the thrill goes straight up his spine.

A voice in the back of his mind reminds him that _yeah, this is Keith_ , the same Keith he’s butted heads with for much longer than they’ve been friends. This is the same Keith that manages to tolerate Lance on most days, but not a whole lot more. This is the Keith he’d spent the better part of his teenage years desperately trying to impress, but messing up again and again and again.

All this should slow his roll. This should be a warning sign. But it only turns Lance on. They’re both a little reckless in the worst ways and they don’t talk about it, don’t discuss it, and just let instinct do all the heavy lifting.

In a rush Lance turns to kiss him, afraid he’ll miss the chance if he waits too long. They’re out of balance and there’s too much teeth, but then Keith slides his knee between Lance’s legs and ruts into him. Lance bucks up on instinct with not even an ounce of shame at how stupidly hard he is and Keith squeezes him harder, with a sharp, rasped, “ _Play nice_.”

Lance doesn’t even know why this is happening. All that focus and thin control Keith’s got over the Lions comes barreling out now and he’s got his hand jammed down Lance’s pants with the hem of his tunic shoved up and bunched around his belt. Lance is backed against the wall and Keith’s nose is pressed right beneath his ear, uneven breath puffing over his skin, entire body shifting in line with each push and twist of his hand. Lance’s own hands shake, still trying to work his way through Keith’s clothes only to settle for rubbing him hard through the smooth fabric.

And he’s always wanted to see Keith come. He’s always wanted to see his mouth fall open and hear little sounds come out and see that desperate, wild look in his eyes. So it’s not like anyone can say Lance never thought about this. That he’s never wanted this.

The weirdness of the situation passes from Lance’s mind when Keith sucks at the spot just beneath his jaw. He bites his neck and draws his tongue up over his collarbone and straight across the line of his throat. The act itself isn’t sexy no one in their right mind actually _licks_ someone like that but there’s something about the fact it’s Keith doing it to him that sets Lance on fire. He feels it, the moment that something inside him starts to snap. The moment he knows this won’t be a one off. He gasps, bucking his hips against Keith’s hand, unfurled and unrestrained.

This time, it doesn’t last long. Keith comes first with one sharp jerk of the hips, a muted groan, and then it’s gone. Lance is too lost in the feel of Keith’s hand stroking up and down his length, fast and hard, to watch his face.

⁂⁂⁂

He doesn’t regret it.

He should. 

He wakes the next morning to a red-wine headache and a sore neck. The memory of Keith’s hands on him flitter back in vivid clarity. The pillow smells like Keith’s shampoo to remind him how he came back to his room with him when it could have stopped in an empty hallway. He thinks on how Keith slept with an arm strewn over his chest a calf wedged under his knee, how he snored and buried his face in the pillow. He thinks how, up close, he’d been so painfully _human_.

Keith’s gone now and the bedroom is quiet.

Lance blinks and throws a hand over his face before kicking off the blankets and swinging his legs off the bed. Part of him aches for Keith’s warmth but he tucks the thought away. No need to want for things he can’t have. Keith would rather hit the training deck than stay curled up with Lance. Better keep it simple.

The day is painfully normal. His borrowed Altean robes are scattered across the floor so he gathers and tosses them in the hamper, berating himself for what he did in them. Then he mentally rehearses the inevitable conversation with Allura while he brushes his teeth. 

He imagines how she’ll react when she finds out about him and Keith. Maybe she’ll reply with a tart _I don’t need to know the details_ without any eye contact. Or maybe she’ll get mad and constantly snap at him for a month. Or worst of all, maybe she won’t say anything at all.

He doesn’t mean to be a pessimist. They’re friends now, good ones, but he’d ended things between them with some wide, expansive excuse about how they were teammates and it was complicated because of conflicts of interest and the greater good, something like that. The truth of the matter was that he knew she deserved a true, traditional romance and something Lance could hardly offer in the middle of a war. The timing was wrong is all. Things sounded simple enough at the time.

Then, of course, he’d gone and fallen into bed with Keith. So maybe he is the asshole here.

He wants to regret it. He should.

He still doesn’t.

⁂⁂⁂

The sex isn’t especially good, not at first. At least, Lance has had better.

Not that they’re bad at it, individually, but sex is about communication and the conversation they got going now tends to run one-sided more often than not. They’re two ends of some sort of sexual energy spectrum or something and can't quite seem to meet in the middle. Keith definitely can’t ever come out and just say what he wants or what he likes and this leads to a lot of trial and error on Lance’s part. It'd be easier if Keith could just _tell him_. Lance is a talker, after all.

He's deduced that Keith doesn’t like his hair pulled, he doesn’t like hickies — Lance got shut out for a week over that one — and he doesn’t like it when Lance touches that one spot just below his ribs. Figuring what he _does_ like is proving even harder. Their hookups are mostly awkward, stilted, rushed, and Keith doesn’t come as hard as Lance does, which does literally nada for Lance’s ego. But whatever. That trial and error thing. He probably should’a figured Keith would be a fussy lay.

They keep at it though. Lance wants it to work and he's nothing if not persistent. Keith’s got that fiery streak and all that excess energy with nowhere to go. Got a real nice snap to his hips too. Lance just knows, if they ever got on the same page, Keith could get his head slamming into the headboard real good. They just gotta get there.

And to be fair, Keith’s damn good at blowing him. Good enough for Lance to know he’s got a fair amount of experience in that area and the thought’s far less gratifying than Lance wants it to be. God only knows who’s dick’s been in Keith’s mouth, unbeknownst to him. Keith’s too private to divulge that kinda thing without prodding and Lance is too afraid of the answer to ever ask. So that little detail gets tucked away.

“Can you— not watch me like that,” Keith says, breaking Lance’s train of thought. And yeah, they need to work on the dirty talk too. He’s got a hand on each of Lance’s knees holding them apart as if he’s afraid Lance might close shop at any given point, which is ridiculous, but also kinda cute in a desperate way. When they really get going, he’ll loosen up a bit, but Keith's pretty stiff when they start off.

Lance shifts his weight back on the mattress, hands sprawled out behind him, and cocks his head with a deep sigh. He’s been half-hard ever since he pulled Keith from the control room and lured him back to his bedroom with a wink and a lewd smile. He’s not going soft until Keith gets him off or leaves him alone with his hand to do it himself. 

Lance says it anyway, because he likes the frustrated pout Keith makes when Lance gets under his skin, “Man, you are killing my mood.”

“Funny. Same thing happens to me when you start talking.”

Lance smiles despite the jab, says “Go ahead and make me shut up then,” and Keith adopts that focused, eager look he gets when he’s ready. Lance just grins.

Keith unzips his jeans, makes Lance lift his hips so he can yank them down far enough to see how Lance is already tenting his boxers. He doesn’t waste any time, pulling Lance out taking him in his mouth. The slide of his mouth over Lance’s cock is tight, hot, and the intensity of it hits him all the way down to his spine. Keith moves when he gives head, works his thighs so he’s got his body into it as he pulls Lance in and out.

“That’s it,” Lance breathes and rests a hand firm on the back of Keith’s neck. He doesn’t push, even if he wants to, just rubs at the sweat-dampened skin in rhythm with the bobbing of Keith’s head. His other hand digs into the mattress.

Keith comes off of him and looks him in the eye, a little bit of saliva trailing between his mouth and the swollen head of Lance’s cock. Keith’s eyes are dark, a little dangerous, and Lance watches his wet lips move around the words, “Already there?” 

Almost, Lance thinks, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet. It’s better if Keith holds him off. “Keep going,” he urges, but the words are grit out between clenched teeth. 

Keith’s mouth quirks up, not enough to be a smile but enough to show he’s pleased and Lance loves knowing he put it there. He places a wet kiss to base of Lance’s cock, tonguing straight up the underside until he’s back on him, sucking and pulling, dragging his teeth just right.

It’s _good_. Lance grabs for Keith’s hair ready to tug — it’s a habit, OK? He’s working on it — but before his fingers can even get a hold of that fistful of mullet, Keith catches hold of his wrist. There’s a pressure point there and Keith knows it, apparently feels some ungodly need to exploit it. He pushes his thumb hard against the nerve and it’s a deliberate, calculated punishment even though he’s still got a mouthful of dick. 

And Lance’s whole body jerks as he makes a decidedly unsexy squawk of surprise, before Keith’s other hand forces his hip still against the mattress. In the split second that follows he raises himself just enough to take in more of Lance’s length, and somehow — against all logic — manages to flatten his tongue. But the grip on Lance’s wrist doesn’t let up. Like a threat.

It’s uncomfortable — it _hurts_ — and Lance comes so hard he has to clamp a hand over his own mouth to keep from screaming. He opens his eyes when Keith releases his hand and the room settles down around him.

Lance looks down and Keith looks up, face etched with more curiosity than worry. His eyes are dark — challenging with that familiar look that says to Lance _I’m a little better than you_ — but he’s breathing shallow when he tilts his head, says, “Yeah?”

That’s all it takes to spur Lance back into action. He answers by jerking Keith up from the ground and pulling his hips forward until he’s standing between Lance’s knees. He settles his hands on Lance’s shoulders as Lance tugs off his belt and pushes his pants and underwear below his hips. He strokes Keith a few times, thumbing over the head to feel the bead of pre-cum there. Then he shifts his hands to Keith’s hips and Keith’s grip tightens on his shoulders. Lance leans in, kisses him right at the juncture of his groin to tease him, just a bit.

Keith’s rules don’t extend to Lance. The moment Lance swallows around Keith’s cock, Keith yanks at his hair and digs nails sharp over his scalp. Lance glances up at him, focuses on the way his mouth falls open, eyes closed, and Adam’s apple bobbing in the dim light.

And he pulls at Lance’s hair, scratches his scalp in between grunts and short moans, all the way until he comes down Lance’s throat.

⁂⁂⁂

The first time Lance sees Keith naked, like completely naked, he’s not even trying. He’s gone looking for Keith to ask him something about their next mission and Keith calls him right into his bathroom where he’s soaking stark naked in his bathtub like a damned living, breathing wet dream. Lance chokes. A little.

Instead of something intelligent, what he says is “You’re taking a bath.”

Keith gives him a flat look, unimpressed. “Astute observation.”

“Yeah. OK. So I, uh—” Lance loses his thought. Keith’s hair is is pulled back in this tiny, stupid-cute little ponytail and his knees poke out of the water where they rest against either side of the tub. Lance catches the planes of his stomach in the clear water. He follows the edges of his abdomen to the line of hair beneath his navel. He jerks his face back up to Keith’s eyes, flushed and maybe a teensy bit aroused. Maybe. A teensy bit. Not his fault Keith’s got all the goods on full display like that. So Lance stares, a little more.

Keith’s not mad about the indiscretion though. He looks bored — like this entire exchange is wasting his time — while Lance is uncomfortably hot in his jeans and T-Shirt. The only thing he can think about is that Keith’s not hard which he decides is far less interesting than his being, well, hard. If he’s just gonna be naked like that anyway. 

Keith’s brow creases, “Can I help you with something Lance?”

“Nah,” Lance folds his arms and cocks his head to the side. He gets himself back under control. He’s horny, but he’s got this. He can make this work. “I think _I_ can help _you_ , my man.”

“You think?” 

He doesn’t look amused. He looks tired. 

Lance isn’t deterred. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and runs a hand through Keith’s bangs. Keith watches him, wary, but doesn’t ask him to leave. So maybe Lance can’t pull his hair, but this’ll do. He likes the feel of it, soft beneath his fingertips. Keith’s head drops back on the tub when Lance begins massaging his scalp, eyes fluttering shut. Lance watches his resolve drop, sees it in the way his fingers twitch along the porcelain of the tub’s rim and hears it in the shallow pitch of his breathing. 

He drops his hand down to the nape of his neck and presses his fingers in, “Feelin’ good, huh?”

He rolls his sleeves up, pushes forward, and reaches down across Keith’s chest, relishing in the sharp intake of air it earns him. Keith eyes remain closed but his lips part as Lance rubs him. He braces himself with his other hand on the back of the tub and runs his hand beneath the water and over Keith’s stomach. The muscles twitch beneath his fingers and Lance smiles. Things are finally getting interesting.

“Tell me what to do,” Lance says. “What do you want?”

Keith opens his eyes to look up at Lance, face twisted in an almost comical combination of frustration and outrage. “You know what I want.”

“Mm. Not sure I do,” Lance singsongs, dragging his hand out of the water and back to rubbing circles on Keith’s scalp. “So tell me what to do, and I might do it.”

“Because you’re so good at following my instructions,” Keith snaps, and he’s mocking Lance, but there’s no real heat behind it. He grabs hold of Lance’s hand then and guides it down under the water to brush over the wiry hair and wrapped his fingers around his cock. “ _There_.”

“Thanks,” Lance mumbles and positions himself over Keith’s body so he can balance himself. The angle is still weird but Keith’s breath shakes in a nice little sound as he starts slowly stroking up and down his length, stroking him to hardness. He pulls upward, runs his thumb over the head and makes Keith groan.

While he starts to fall apart Lance asks him, calmly, “So you coming with us to Zucryra?”

“That— The princess wanted—” Keith sighs when Lance twists his wrist the way he likes. His voice gets a little high, that desperate tint slipping in. “We’re goin’ for— to barter for some of their metal, right?”

“MmHm.” Lance pushes his arm deeper into the water and his T-Shit sleeve gets soaked up to his bicep. He fondles Keith’s balls, studying the way his brows pinch before settling back out. “You coming with? Or you got big, important plans with your Marmora buddies again?”

“Do you— Need me for that?” He’s panting now, hips canting up to chase Lance’s touch each time he releases his hand. “Sounds boring.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Lots of pretty ladies and hot guys on Zucryra. Or so I hear.” Lance stops stroking him to bring his hand back up and rub it across Keith's stomach and over his chest. “I might get out and mingle. Guess I don’t need you for that.”

Keith makes a displeased sound and his eyes flutter open to glare at Lance. He’s meant to look severe but the way his damp hair catches in his face, he looks more tender. He’s cute when he’s jealous.

“Oh, do you not like that?” Lance shrugs, ghosting his fingers over Keith’s chest just where the water hits. “Maybe you need to come along and keep an eye on me.” 

The truth is Lance won’t go after anyone, regardless of whether Keith joins them or not — Lance got all that out of his system ages ago — but he wants Keith to tag along with them since it feels like he never shows up for the fun stuff anymore. Lance might miss him a tiny bit. “So what’dya think?”

Keith levels him with a scowl. “I think you need to stop talking and get in here.”

Not quite the answer Lance was fishing for, but it’ll do. He reaches behind his head to pull of his shirt, tossing Keith an wry and flippant _“Yes, sir._ ”

⁂⁂⁂

His mother taught him kindness.

Somewhere along the way he forgot some of the finer points. Back when they were in flight class together, he mistook Keith’s calm for apathy. He stood slack-jawed and watched Keith ace every exam, presentation, and simulator challenge thrown at him. He watched Keith _not care_. Lance cared a lot and hated all that Keith was on principle. He was never kind enough to hide it and he was never kind enough to see how much Keith _did_ care. His care only looked different than what Lance was used to.

He regrets a lot of things now. Part of him thinks if he’d been kinder to Keith back then, if Lance hadn’t fallen into that void on anger, that uncalled for knot of malice, then he wouldn’t have this shame coiled inside him. The other part of him thinks it a fine, fitting punishment that Keith teaches him a good lesson when he shoves his face to the floor. 

And what's done is done. Keith is sweating now, looking at him with dark eyes and his bangs mussed around his face. They’ve only been sparring for fifteen minutes but Lance is about ready throw in the towel. Keith gives him enough room to stand but his heels dig into the mat, ready to go again. He’s half play-fighting but the other half is real anger. He gets like that a lot, needs to burn off some steam at two in the morning. Lance lets him. 

“You even trying?” Keith pants. The restless, impatient energy of his is palpable from five feet away. “C’mon. Thought you were up for this.”

“‘Ya know— I’m up for a lot things.” Lance pulls himself to his feet and tries his best not to wobble, stretching is arms above high his head. He knows he’s open and vulnerable standing the way - inviting Keith to knock him back down - but part of him craves the contact. He offers a cocky grin despite the pain blooming over his ribs. “Fight me like you mean it and we’ll see.”

That makes Keith crack a smile, the look warming Lance down to his toes, then he springs forward. He catches Lance in the shoulder, forcing him to stumble backward, but Lance twists and lunges forward. He lands a heavy-handed blow to Keith’s midsection and it’s enough to make Keith stagger for a split second. 

He stops and turns, hand pressing against the spot Lance hit. He’s smiling again, eyes gone a little feral. There’s a rasp in his voice, dragged out between labored breath, “ _Good_.”

“You think?” Lance grins back. Then he makes the next move, barreling toward Keith only for Keith to sidestep and lay a hard hit to his back, knocking the air from his lungs. Lance lands on his stomach and his jaw hits the floor hard enough he bites his tongue. He knows he should call it off, ask Keith to lay off for a minute, but pride gets in the way. Keith’s knee presses into the spot between his shoulder blades, trapping him there.

Lance spits a mix of blood and saliva on the mat, struggling to catch his breath. “Playin’ dirty now?” he sneers, the sound of his voice a sharp rasp. He’s in no position to taunt, but “That all you got Golden Boy?”

The sound Keith makes in reply is a low rumble, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, and Lance wishes more than anything he could see Keith’s face. He coughs and Keith presses more weight on his back, grabs a fistful of his hair, and Lance’s fingers dig uselessly against the mat. This shouldn't be sending shocks of interest up his spine. This shouldn't be doing any of the things to him it very much is.

Neither of them move until Lance rocks his hips forward, just enough to get Keith’s attention, the movement limited by Keith’s weight on his back. He’s in too much pain to be effectively turned on but he’s close to that precipice, just near the right balance to get him all hot and bothered. The catch is that he imagines Keith’s already there. He does it again, lowers his breathing and flattens his palms on the mat, the move overtly submissive. Keith catches on.

He pushes harder so Lance’s cheek is flush against the floor, growls, “You’re so messed up,” like he has any room to be put off by this. The gravel of arousal is dragging along the bottom of his voice.

“Talk about calling the kettle black,” Lance breathes. “You fucking- _love_ this. Get your kicks shoving your men into the floor. Says lots more ‘bout you than me.”

“ _Shut up_.”

For the first time in his life, Lance is almost afraid of Keith. Not that he thinks Keith would deliberately hurt him, but Keith certainly could if he ever decided he wanted to. A shiver runs up Lance's spine.

The only thing that really scares him is how much he likes it.

⁂⁂⁂

Beneath the haze of the mess their relationship is, he’s comfortable when Keith is near. For so long, they’re interactions were short and frenzied, slotted between Keith’s stints with the Blade of Marmora, and all the other obligations tossed in their wake. But when Keith stays, they meet together. Keith asks for his input.

There’s no telling if it’s night or day — space is always black — but Lance is just rolled out of bed. He’s freshly showered and shaving when his bathroom door slides open. Keith wanders in, wordless, and wraps his arms around Lance’s midsection, resting his chin on his shoulder. Keith is clad in his Blades uniform, the armor chafed and scuffed from a recent mission. He’s not due back yet. That’s all Lance knows.

“Hey.” He relaxes against Keith, watching him sigh through his reflection in the mirror. 

Keith squeezes him a little tighter. “Hey.”

Whatever happened, must’ve been bad. Lance doesn’t press for anything. Keith communicates in a different way and Lance is learning his language. He continues about his routine — finishes shaving and washes his face — with Keith pressed against his back. He waits when Keith’s thumb starts rubbing against his abdomen. “You OK?”

Keith only hums, turning his face to kiss the side of Lance’s neck. He holds still, lets Keith open up to him in his own way. The touches become more deliberate, more calculated and Lance watches their reflection in the mirror, the way Keith hand moves down his waist and back up to his chest. The mood shifts. Lance remains still.

Keith smiles against his throat, teeth catching skin, and Lance trembles where he stands. Keith’s fingers drop lower, trailing down his shirt until they dip past the waistband of his boxers. “Like this?”

“Mm.” Lance can feel them snapping into place. They’re getting good at this. They’re good together. 

Keith drags his gloved hand from Lance’s belly, up and across his chest and higher to over his collar bone until he’s got his slim fingers wrapped snug around Lance’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze but the suggestion is there. He leaves it there and draws the knuckles of his other hand across the front of Lance's boxers. Then he roughly shoves the fabric down, the cool air against his erection making his gasp before Keith wraps his fingers around him. Lance watches in the mirror, his own hands grasping either side of the sink, and he tries to focus on the feel of Keith rutting against his ass. But his gaze keeps shifting back to the gloved hand spread across his throat.

⁂⁂⁂

Keith is more powerful than he looks. He’s strong - the long, slim lines of his arms and legs deceptive - but his power comes from his will. No one can bend him. Lance loves that about him most of all.

He snaps off his wrist gauntlets, not bothering to look at Lance when he says, “Take off your clothes and get in bed.”

Lance stops just behind the doorway as it slides shut behind him, leans back against the metal to catch his breath. Keith likes to jump him right after missions and the deadlier the fight the more worked up he gets, it seems. Lance doesn’t question it anymore. They’re all messed up in their own ways.

The command isn’t even the self-assured directive Lance wants it to be — just Keith being his good ol’ impatient, hotheaded self — but it gets the hair raising on the back of his neck anyway.

“Did you hear me?” Keith finally looks at him, stripped down to his jumpsuit. The material sticks to this hip bones and Lance traces the line down the edge of his thigh. Keith makes an unsatisfied noise and takes five sure, deliberate steps toward Lance until they’re standing less than a foot apart. He Slides a hand down Lance’s waist and his voice drips with frustration, “I said get undressed. _Now._ ”

Lance huffs, “Jeez. In a hurry, much?” but he complies. He unbuckles his chest plate, lifts it, and tosses it to the ground. He strips away his gauntlets, belt, and Keith stands there, fingers kneading absently at the seam over his waist. Lance doesn’t take his eyes off him.

Once he’s down to his own jumpsuit Keith closes the space between them and kisses him, open-mouthed and slow. He fingers a the zipper at the back of Lance’s neck until he’s pulling open the fabric. Cold air falls down his back as Keith steps back, “You smell terrible.”

“No shit,” Lance says. “How do you think you smell?”

“Like a goddamn flower,” Keith snaps, half shoving Lance into his bed. They land as a tangle of limbs, stripping the last of their suits off. The feel of Keith’s bare skin on his makes Lance’s cock twitch before Keith’s even gotten his hands on him. They kiss, open mouthed and wide, with an intimacy they didn’t have before. Something they adapted along the way.

Keith settles on top of him, pushing his legs open and Lance stops him with a hand flat on his chest. “You can be rough with me,” he says, fingertips of his other hand digging into the mattress. He’s nervous and he doesn’t know why, but he’s not pretending anymore. “It’s OK if it hurts.”

Keith frowns, jaw tight. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lance gives a tiny shrug. He sees the possessiveness shining in his eyes, no matter what he says, feels the knot forming in his belly at the electric edge to his voice. He wants to. And Lance knows it. He’s not afraid to.

He forces his voice even, says “I don’t mind. You know I’m up for everything.”

Keith ignores the comment, opting to focus on touching him. Lance hones in on the smell of his skin, the taste of his sweat, and he realizes with a strange feeling in his gut there’s probably not much that would turn him off of Keith. So when Keith inches down his chest and mouths over his stomach, Lance runs his nails across his scalp but stops himself short of pulling his hair. When Keith is on top of him, the rest of the world flickers away. Keith is all there is. 

A quiet “Now. _Please,_ ” is all he gets out, the words tumbling from his mouth of their own accord, mirroring Keith’s energy. Something about the way they are pushes him out of his element and into another. They compliment each other in the weirdest ways. This physical intimacy bleeding into everything else they do. 

“I’m working on it,” Keith mutters and Lance stubbornly digs his fingers into into Keith’s arm when he lets off to dig the bottle of oil out from under the bed. There’s a spark in Keith’s eyes when he sits back on his heels to push two fingers inside Lance. Keith never hesitates. He’s careful but not gentle, in a way that’s so inherently _Keith_ that Lance shakes despite trying his hardest to maintain his own confident front. After all this time, he can’t bring himself to be timid before _his leader_.

“Come on,” Keith murmurs above him. The remnants of their fight, that tooth and nail game they both love, comes forward then. Keith kisses his thighs, scrapes along his hips, pushes him until he wants to beg for it. Lance forces himself to relax, makes himself vulnerable and open - obediently. Keith twists his fingers in one last, good way and Lance’s back arches. “That’s it,” he breathes. His mind wanders for a second, lost in pleasure. They need to do this out on the flight deck some time. 

Then at the press of Keith’s erection between his thighs, Lance breathes out, and Keith almost pulls back. Lance folds his fingers around the back of Keith’s neck and urges him forward. When he pushes inside, Lance watches how his brows pinch together and his lips fall open. He creates a rhythm and Lance runs his hands up and down the ridge of his spine.

“Don’t stop,” Lance grits out. “If you stop now, I will kill you.” 

Beneath a tight smile, Keith leans down to press their foreheads together. His bangs fall on Lance’s face, some strands land in his mouth but it doesn’t bother him. Keith fucks the way Lance dreamed he would. His moves are sharp, controlled, but bordering on chaotic. He’s perfect for this. 

Then Keith slows the thrust of his hips and Lance digs a heel into his back, trying to urge him back into rhythm, groaning a frustrated string of “Come on, come on , come on,” unil Keith traces a hand up Lance’s sternum and his fingers wrap around Lance’s neck. They stop for a minute, look at each other, then Keith moves again. He pushes his hand, squeezes, just a little at first.

And Lance’s jaw falls open, breath coming in sharp pants now. He’s struggling, just a bit, the sharp edge of panic just a hair’s breadth away. He says it and it’s every bit the taunt it sounds like, “Do it.” 

“Harder,” Lance bites out and his voice is quiet. He’s not sure how Keith will take it when he says it, if he’ll fuck harder or if he’ll tighten his grip, and Lance doesn’t even know which one he wants. “ _Harder._ ”

⁂⁂⁂

He’s in Keith’s bed when he wakes, arms wrapped tight around his waist. They’re not perfect. They’re bruised, dirty, and scared. They’ve lived much longer than their twenty-one years can attest. Lance can taste the electric current of the Red Lion in Keith and he doesn’t know where he fits in that equation. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it never did.

Keith’s voice is a low murmur against his lips, tinged in reckless bravado and confidence, “I want you.”

Lance tells him, “You can have me.” 

He belonged to Keith, always did and always will.


End file.
